logsinthenight | funnel cake or bust

Entry tags:

funnel cake or bust

characters: Eliot Waugh & OPEN
location: The Amusement Park
date/time: Second week-ish of March/a few days after the park's discovery.
content: You know, just a casual day at a weird fair.
warnings: Potential fun being had.

[ Now that Midge seems to be gone, Eliot feels odd staying inside the cabin. Not because he feels like he doesn't belong there, but because it had been nice to have someone around all the time. He appreciates consistency and routine more than he'll ever admit. But, he's a grown up (allegedly), and shit happens and you just have to deal with it when it does.

So rather than sit around in the dark cabin, drinking up Midge's wine, Eliot decides to just go out. He hopes he can meet more people, or maybe even people that already know him from his apparent first time here. Or maybe it's just nice to not sit around a dark house for a bit.

Either way, he can't really resist the appeal of checking out the newly found amusement park. ]

➼ i. DEEP FRIED GOODNESS

[ Is it even a carnival without the food?

Eliot doesn't consider himself athletically inclined enough for games, and if the rides were working he probably wouldn't really trust them. But food? Food he can definitely do, and food he definitely will do. He wanders around the food carts, pleasantly surprised at the normalcy of it all. The spirits seem eager to please, too, trying to lure him into their own specific delicacies.

Okay, so he ends up with a candied acorn that he gently discards when he's out of sight of the spirit who'd given it to him, but there it is. The Holy Grail of amusement park cuisine - funnel cake. And it's real, and there's no battered sticks or leaves, just fluffy, golden goodness with a sprinkling of powdered sugar.

This alone was probably worth coming out here. ]

➼ ii. FUN AND GAMES

[ He's got his funnel cake, so he decides to go see the games. Not that he'll actually play them, but Eliot has to admit he's curious to see what sort of prizes Beacon has on offer. He's not expecting anything amazing, but maybe, sort of, he's hoping for a surprise. Like something useful or something from home.

No. Instead there appear to be fish bowls, bullets, and foliage-stuffed plushies.

Okay, the stuffed animals are sort of cute.

The spirit manning the booth seems to catch on to Eliot looking at them, too, because it's urging him over. Apparently, it doesn't really take no for an answer, despite Eliot knowing he's got no chance. He sighs as he shoves the last of his funnel cake into his mouth and gets a handful of rocks to throw at the bottles.

Unsurprisingly, he doesn't win. He does manage to at least knock one bottle over, but Eliot had avoided sports as a rule during his formative years. He shrugs, and feels sort of bad that the spirit seems to be sad he didn't win. ]

Maybe next time.

➼ iii. TAKE ME FOR A RIDE

[ It's probably good that the rides aren't working. Eliot side-eyes the roller coaster as he goes by it. A ride that's basically assisted suicide? That seems pretty on brand for this place, and it makes him think that he doesn't really want to try any of the others if they ever do get powered up.

Who knows what's lurking inside the Haunted House?

It doesn't stop him from standing there, looking at the defunct rides. ]

Do you think when they work, they light up?

[ Because - What's the point of a Tunnel Of Love if it's just pitch black inside and you can't see shit? But if this all were to light up the way an amusement park should, it'd be insane. Eliot wonders how far the glow would cast. ]

➼ iv. WILDCARD

Choose your own amusement park shenanigans.

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[ Eliot glances over his shoulder, an amused smile on his face. ]

Are you stalking me?

[ He's teasing. He's glad to see Quentin, of course he is, and he looks back at the game booth. Eliot shrugs a shoulder. ]

This game. Maybe next time I'll know how to throw.

[ There won't actually be a next time. Eliot was just trying to make the spirit feel better. ]

I'm not not stalking you?

[Worst. Answer. Ever. And Quentin steps further in to the light on the game booth while shrugging.]

It's an amusement park. And I've managed to give myself a library headache. It's kind of like an ice cream one, except. No ice cream.

[This might not have been the worst place in the world, if only they weren't dead, if this world wasn't dead and if that giant wheel of death wasn't right there. In another life, this might have been something close to nice.]

This is some place, huh? There's even a haunted house, in case anyone wasn't freaked out enough already.

You're such a loser.

[ It's said with a lot of fondness, as if it's an endearment and not an insult, and Eliot can't help but laugh a bit. Then he shrugs, looking off towards where he thinks the haunted house is. ]

Do you think it's one of those really lame ones? You know, with the really bad pop-up skeletons, but you hear it before it pops up so you're not scared.

[Cue eyeroll and Quentin nudges Eliot with his shoulder once he's close enough.]

Have you *seen* Beacon? It's going to be spirits ripping people's spines out and throwing them at the riders. Or, just straight up making you hallucinate.

[The shivers running down Quentin's spine is less from the cold and more from the memories of that happening and he turns to the games instead.]

Want to watch me try to win something?

I’m going to ignore how oddly specific that whole statement was. But yes, I would like to watch you try and win.

[ Eliot continues to look amused as the spirit collects the rocks back for Quentin to throw. ]

No cheating with magic.

Edited 2020-03-10 17:01 (UTC)

I've had a lot of time to think about it.

[And really, it is kind of sad that he has had a lot of time to think, and maybe he should have spent some of it actually thinking about something like that. What the spirits might be up to next, but. No.]

I'm a magician, of course I'm going to use magic.

[But the small spirit in the booth is shaking it's head at him, or at least Quentin thinks it's the head. The strange eyes bobbing up and down and it holds the rocks away from him as he steps up.]

Alright, alright. I won't, okay? I am not going to use magic.

[He weights the firs rock in his hand, trying to judge the distance before tossing it carefully. It hits nothing and the spirit squeals, pushing more rocks at him]

I've got admit, I thought this would be easier.

[ He laughs a little. It's not mean, he just finds it funny, and he leans gently against the booth. ]

I guess neither of us is very athletically inclined. It's a good thing this isn't a date, or this would be embarrassing.

Yeah.

[The next rock bounces off the edge of a bottle and the tower doesn't even move, and Quentin shrugs, heart sinking. Not that he wants this to be a date? Because he doesn't and it isn't. But really, Eliot? You had to say it?]

Good thing.

[The next rock makes a few bottles crash to the ground and the spirit jumps and clap its hands. In the end, Quentin only manages to make half of the tower tilt over and the spirit shakes its head at him. No dice.]

So, where to next? I think I saw a shooting gallery somewhere up there?

[ Ah well. It looks like Eliot won’t be fulfilling any teenage fantasies where a cute boy wins him something at a carnival. He moves away from where he’s leaning and gives a gentle shrug. ]

Are you going to impress me with a feat of fire-powered masculinity?

[ He gives Quentin a good natured shoulder bump. ]

[Quentin pushes back, smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.]

Uh huh, and being really good at shooting cardboard will impress you? Lead the way and I will do my best.

[There are no piles of stuffed toys or other obvious prizes to win, but Quentin is going to win something, dammit, and possibly impress Eliot with his previously unknown gun-prowess.]

It might. I'm supposed to be impressed by men with skills to protect me, right?

[ Maybe it's for the best there are no cutesie prizes here. Something about being handed an adorable spirit plush makes Eliot feel like this would really be a date, or he'd freak out enough to assume there was an ulterior motive behind it.

This seems a bit safer. If you ignore the fact there's guns. ]

Get shooting, Coldwater.

[Quentin laughs at that, because there has never been anyone who needed less protection than Eliot Waugh. Who seemed to be a ruler at Brakebills and who had the blood of a High King running through his veins.

Except maybe Margo.

So, that just make Quentin laugh and shake his head a little.

The shooting booth is set up a little differently and the spirit that hands him a slightly rusty air-rifle, darts back down under the counter immediately. Like Quentin would shoot it or something, because it just throws itself down on the ground.

Carnival rules.

Hit the center and win-- prizes? There's nothing on display on the backwall or on the empty shelves lining the sides of the booth.

Quentin pops in a round and braces his elbows on the counter. He takes a deep breath, and just like every movie he's ever watched that had gun-shooting in it, he lets it out slow and he squeezes the trigger.

There's a dull flumpf and a tiny hole just to the left of the cardboard target.]

I'll get it next time, Waugh.

[Another line-up, another lean-in and a deep breath, and really, maybe this would be easier if he wasn't also painfully aware of Eliot behind him.

He shoots and he--gets a 2.

Okay, spirit! Get ready, and Quentin fires off the rest of the shots in rapid succession and by sheer luck, one of the hits almost at the center and the spirit pops back up to hand him a handful of shiny bullets.]

Uh, thanks? That's-- yeah, this is just fine. Because we really needed those, right.

Consider me impressed.

[ He smiles, teasing, but he really is. It's not the gun firing that makes Quentin hot, because Eliot isn't really about that, but it's the fact that Quentin could do it at all. That, in a pinch, Quentin really could keep him safe.

He plucks one of the bullets from Quentin's hand. ]

We might. Maybe we can trade it for something, or melt them down.

There's gunpowder in there.

[Quentin points out, rolling one of them between his fingers and he stuffs the rest in to his pocket. Not that he knows a lot about bullets, but the fact that they have something highly explosive inside of them is one of those few things.

Say...]

We could build a bomb? Or, yeah. Melt them down to something less lethal?

[Where to next, because the rides are all dark. Well, okay, so all of Beacon is dark but these rides are even darker. Most of them just gaping dark holes in the sparse light from their lanterns, but it's still kind of nice. To just walk without a clear goal in mind.]

Hey, do you think they have corn-dogs somewhere around here?

[ Eliot's not completely ruling out the possibility they might need to make a bomb. ]

There are definitely corn dogs. I saw them when I was looking for funnel cakes. Follow me.

[ Not that Eliot gives Quentin much of a choice. He's wrapping an arm around Quentin's shoulders and leading him off to the stalls where the smell of fried food is coming from. ]

[With the scent of fried foods and open flames, the flickering of the light and the warm weight of Eliot's arm around him-- this could almost be normal.

If he squints. It's normal adjacent and really, that's more than enough for now and Quentin lets the golden glow from their lanterns light the way towards the food.

Until... the light from his starts to bleed a deep red and in that split-second when he sees it and before the pain hits, he pushes away from Eliot, both hands clasped to his face. The pain is still the worst, like needles pushing their way through his skin and he huffs with it, eyes screwed shut against it and when the first tentacles wriggle their way past his fingers, Quentin collapses to the ground on his knees.]

Shit--

[It takes minutes before the pain recedes enough for him to make much noise, except for curses and grunts, his lantern is cracked and throwing everything in to a red light by his side.]

[ It is nearly normal, and while Eliot had said it's not a date it sort of feels like in some other world, in some other life, it could be one. Which is enough for him, because he's an expert on taking what he can get, but his content mood fades away pretty quickly. ]

Quentin? Quentin!

[ Something isn't right. Eliot tries to reach for Quentin, to see what's wrong and what he can do, to try and help save Quentin from something that Eliot is oblivious to. But it's hard to see in the dark. The lanterns don't cast a wide glow and the red light suddenly emanating from Quentin's lantern is horrifying but makes it even harder to see properly.

Except that Eliot thinks he sees something moving, and, please God, don't let this be a fucked up Alien moment.

By the time Quentin is on his knees, Eliot's moving close again, forgetting about caution. When he reaches out he expects to find Quentin's hand to move from his face, to grip in his own and offer some sort of steadfast comfort. Instead, he finds something wiggly and definitely not human. ]

Jesus Christ - [ Eliot recoils, drawing his hand back and taking a few steps back. ] - What the fuck is going on, Q?

[The blinding pain fades, like it always does, leaving his face feeling like it's suffering from a hangover except for how chugging water won't help at all. He stays down, face tilted to the ground and he doesn't remove his hands.

Quentin shakes his head.

He felt it, because of course the fucking tentacles feel like his face feels things. Heat or cold or the sharp bite of a razor and it's not because he hadn't tried to cut them off before. So many times. He'd hold one up by the bathroom mirror, straight-razor poised and that first cut was the fucking worst. And the tentacles just grew back.

So, what's the point.

He felt Eliot reach out and the instant-recoil after that, and he just stays, shoulders hunched and head bowed.]

I'm fine, El. It's nothing. Just, uh, I don't think I want a corndog anymore.

[Deep even breathes and every word sounds warped, from his hands and from the curtain of tentacles he's desperately trying to hide.]

You can go back. It's fine.

[ Well, Eliot's already established this place is fucked up. And, yeah, feeling something wriggling when you're not expecting it is alarming, but Quentin is his friend. Well, he's more than that, but it's complicated, and suddenly Eliot feels a pang of guilt for the way he reacted. Because this isn't new to Quentin. Quentin isn't freaking out, he's resigned, and maybe Eliot's made it worse.

He sucks in a breath and kneels down beside Quentin. ]

H- Hey.

[ Eliot presses his lips together and his brow furrows. He still has no idea what the fuck is happening, just that neither of them would ever ditch the other.

He reaches over to gently squeeze the back of Quentin's neck. ]

It'd be a pretty shitty fake date if we didn't leave together.

[ He attempts a slight smile. ]

[Usually, when Quentin stalls in answering, it's because he doesn't know what to say or how to say it. When the words just won't come or they come all at once and it takes him a second to get it all straight in his head before he opens his mouth.

He doesn't always remember to wait that second, and that's when the words get weird and tangled up, coming it stutters and false starts.

The other times, is when he knows exactly what he wants to say and how to say it, and he just can't. Because quite honestly, there's no way in hell Eliot would want to hear a our first date will end so much better than this from him right now. Or possibly ever.

The tentacles squirm in embarrassment under his palms and Quentin huffs, hating and loving how much that hand on the back of his neck actually helps.

This is Eliot.]

Promise me you won't run. Or laugh.

Quentin.

[ Eliot sighs out the name, like he's exasperated, but he's clearly just playing around a bit. Trying to lighten the mood. ]

I literally watched you grow old and grow the worst beard in the history of beards, and I never once ran or laughed. Okay, I laughed a bit, but I didn't run no matter how many times I thought about it. I think I can handle this.

[Okay, so. Eliot remembers the third key, and any other day, Quentin would have been able to take some kind of comfort in that.]

This isn't a beard, and-and really, the grandkids thought it looked great, so there.

[But he does sit back on his heels, looking up. The blood-red light of his lantern turns the carnival rides in to creepy shadows and he pulls his hands away. The tentacles writhe and twist as if they're trying to hide themselves.]

It just, uh. It just happens sometimes?

[ Eliot smiles a little more at the mention of their grandkids, but it fades pretty quick when Quentin moves his hands. Though Eliot does a good job of not recoiling again, thank you very much.

He does frown, though, and spends a few hard moments just looking at Quentin. ]

You look an extra in Pirates Of The Caribbean.

[For one heartbeat, Quentin just sits there and he sucks in a startled breath and laughs. Just a little.

It's hard, being looked at when his face looks like this, but the tentacles wave at Eliot a little enthusiastically before settling down.]

That's... not what I expected you to say. But- you're not wrong.

It, uh. Really brings out your eyes.

[ Eliot looks equal parts amused and confused, but he stands up, taking Quentin's hand to pull him up as well. ]

So. This happens a lot here? To everyone or just - You know. You?

funnel cake or bust

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